These are my hands.
They have made both good and hopeful love.
They’ve coaxed night terrors from a dog
And curled in upon themselves
So hard
As to wake cramped.
These hands have prayed belligerent and beseeching prayers.
Fine and common meals have been made.
Black eyeliner and red lipstick
Precursors to an exhibition
Of art both sublime and something less.
These lovely hands are mine
Because I baited fishing poles
And threw back the fish.
Sometimes.
Sometimes I gutted those fish on the driveway
And loved the color and shapes I found inside.
These hands have thrown one wine glass
At a man
And missed completely.
They have signed unread contracts
And penned love letters
Unfortunately unappreciated
By anyone but me.
I love my hands
Because they have been strong
And now they aren’t.
I love that I still love them.
I love them still.
.
.
-Cathy Aten 2013

“I love you.
I respect you.
It is a privilege to live with you.
Won’t you help me
And teach what you know
About intent?
You see..
I’ve lost my moxie
And you have it
In spades.
I’ll trade you
Really great food
And original songs
Along with
Your spot
Always saved
In bed
Next to me
If you’ll just share
How-in-the-hell
You keep calling up
The gladiatorial acumen
Running red
In your blood
So close beneath
The white white whiteness
Of your lovely fur.”
Amen.

I do it and keep doing it because it entertains me, helps others feel comfortable interacting with me, helps me feel whole, feels like a community service to be experienced as a cool woman in a wheelchair who clearly has some challenges going on but is not victimized by them.

I try to be a piece of art complete with the same garnet red blood you carry in your veins and perhaps represent a way of living in a compromised physical self outside possibilities you are familiar with.

A friend sent me this which interested me as the bike’s purpose is to try to give others the experience of MS which is so personal to each of us afflicted however there do exist some pretty common symptoms.

My temperament is to rise; add light to shadowy stuff.

I work to include the shadow but not hang out there too long.

Some people think I fake my attitude in life as a coping skill.

I’m just trying to create an interesting life by way of placing my attention in groovy places..(did I just say “groovy???”)

My mechanical pseudo-prowess kicks in and for an hour I try to fix it with one hand.

No go.

I can do ANYthing. But I can’t.

Get back in bed.

Pet Emma.

Hmm…Another wonderful life lesson about how none of us can control one fucking thing…YAY!

I couldn’t relax enough to sleep so I ran through possible saviors; calculating distance to drive, who do I feel ok enough to let see me looking wrecked and lying in pee?

DAVID!! close by, beloved past boyfriend, he would be sure not to judge.

9:10 am: “David?” (I hear his surprise to get a call from me Sunday morning)

“My indoor wheelchair short circuited and I wondered if you would consider coming over here to help me switch to my larger chair? (I am blessed with a very old small chair.. small enough to keep from banging the shit out of my walls).. I can’t get out of bed.”

“Sure!” he says genuinely up for this morning service call. “I’ll be there in 15 minutes”.

I lie there in bed w/ covers pulled all the way up, spit pasting my hair down and he knocks on the door, Emma hardly barks because she knows when goodness is afoot.

“MY HERO!”

He fixes my life in 4 minutes.

Then I ask if he’d mind taking Emma for a walk.

He shines back at me..”Sure.”

This gives me 10 minutes to de-bedlam myself and when they both return I say: “David..this means so much.”

He says: “I’ve been waiting 3 years for you to ask me to do something for you”.